


Show me

by Luffymarra



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Drunkenness, M/M, mention of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8194816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luffymarra/pseuds/Luffymarra
Summary: Can Zevran show Fenris how he truly feels?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarlingAmatus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingAmatus/gifts), [Leofina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leofina/gifts).



> This fic started out as a rp between DarlingAmatus and Leofina, and I expanded on it. So this is for them, I hope you like it. Betaed by Zoe.

“So Zevran, do you want to see my latest drawings?” Isabela asked, sliding a notebook over to the blond assassin.

“Ah, my dearest Isabela, you know me so well. I do so love your art,” Zevran said, slowly flipping through the pages, running his figures over some of the people that he recognized, until he came to one that draws all his attention. “This one of our broody wolf, is especially marvelous. Is this truly what those exquisite tattoos look like under his clothing?” A noise of disgust brought their attention to the other two occupies of the table.

“I assure you, anything in there is false,” Fenris said, ignoring the snickering Varric beside him.

“False you say? Well than, would you like to give us a private show, purely to correct our dear Isabela’s errors, of course,” Zevran offered, a gleam in his eyes and Isabela looking hopeful next to him.

“I hate you both,” Fenris murmured with an exasperated sigh, taking a drink from his wine glass.

“Oh don’t be like that, sweet thing. Don’t mind him, Zev. He’s still upset because I finally figured out that he went commando. It’s the reason I could never guess the color of his smalls,” Isabela sighed dreamily.

“Commando? Truly?” Zevran asked, his eyes wondering down the other elf’s body. Fenris’ growl was drown out by Varric’s laughter.

“Tell you what, Rivaini, you give me some of those pictures, and I’ll write you a story you can drool over for days.” Seeing the scowl Fenris turned his way, Varric held up his hands in a warding motion. “Now Broody, I never said it would be about your drawing. That would be a waste of the info I’m gathering from watching you and Shadow over there.” Varric said, while pointing at Zevran. “Though there haven’t been many juicy parts to write about yet.”

“I do not want my personal life printed in one of your books,” Fenris growled, halfway standing from his chair.

“Am I part of your personal life already? Marvelous!” Zevran exclaimed, only to dodge a moment later as Fenris throws his wine bottle at the assassins’ head. “My, such a waste of good wine.” Zevran moaned, looking at the liquid dripping down the wall. “There are better ways to release stress than wasting good drink, my friend. Luckily, I am a master of several technics guaranteed to relax.”

Fenris snarled, pulling his sword out. “I have my own.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I am not into violence on the first date.” Zevran crossed his arms and shook his head. “A little aggression can spice it up surely, but what to do with such a fine weapon? I’d rather had other things in mind.”

Fenris sighed, the arm holding his sword dropping to his side. “You are impossible.”

“So many say,” Zevran agreed, giving him a wink and a short bow, before pulling a dagger from the back of his belt. “If you change your mind, place this dagger at your window, and I shall come. Until then my dear Fenris.” Zevran stabbed the dagger into the wooden table and with one last smirk disappeared into the shadows.

Fenris stood there for a moment, staring at the dagger. Then he snarled, grabbed it, and stormed out of the tavern. From the shadows, Zevran watched it all with a pleased smile crossed his face.

“Shadow, a word.”

Zevran looked over startled to see Varric staring directly at his hiding place, arms crossed and a serious expression on his face. Releasing his stealth, the assassin nodded and followed the dwarf up the stairs into the other’s room.

“Listen, Shadow, I like you. From what I’ve heard from Rivaini and observed myself, you seem like a good guy. I think you could be good for Broody, you seem to have a way of getting under his defenses and pulling him out of his shell, but he has had a lot of shit happen to him. So if this is some sort of game that you’re playing, because you’re bored, then I suggest you go find a different elf to fuck with. Fenris deserves more than to be used as a plaything and then left in the dirt when the novelty wears off,” Varric explained, watching the blond assassin closely.

Zevran stood there stunned - someone was actually giving him the shovel talk! He quickly came out of it when the part about using Fenris finally sank in. He had done many things in his life, but to do that to someone as wonderful as the warrior elf…

“I will swear on any oath you wish, on my very life, that I have no intension of using our dear Fenris for a mere plaything. I will gladly help kill anyone that has tried such a thing, and if _I_ ever do such a thing to our wolf, I will allow you to end my life,” Zevran pledged, bowing and placing a hand over his heart.

“I believe you, Shadow. Just remember that Bianca and I will be watching you, along with every member of the rest of the gang.”

***********************************************

A week later, Fenris sat alone in his room, taking a long drag off his third bottle of wine. Staring into the fire, the scene from this afternoon played before his eyes. Seeing Hawke with his arm around a sleeping Anders, leaning down to kiss the top of the blonde’s head. Isabela with Merrill in her lap, whispering into a pointed ear until the mage was blushing a bright red and kissing smirking lips. Having those images run through his wine fogged mind, brought the loneliness back until it seemed to be trying to crush his very spirit. Why was he always alone? Maybe he didn’t deserve to have someone with him. What did he truly have to offer someone?

Blurrily looking up from the fire, he caught sight of a familiar dagger sitting on the mantle. Up until now he had wonder why he had even kept it, but right now he would welcome even that annoying elf’s company. Any company, just so he didn’t have to be alone anymore. Rising unsteadily to his feet, Fenris picked up the dagger, and slowly walked over to his bedroom window. Opening it, he stabbed the blade into the wood and returned to stand in front of the fire.

Sometime later, Fenris heard a noise at the window and quickly spun to face it. It took him a minute to regian his balance and stop his swimming sight after the sudden movement, but in that time he missed the concerned frown that crossed Zevran’s face. Once he could focus, all the warrior saw was the assassin smiling brightly at him.

“Ah, so I see my handsome face has overwhelmed you. Or have my charms finally won you over? Come, tell me what you had planned for us tonight,” Zevran said, walking over to stand face to face with the other elf. The assassin was surprised and barely reacted in time to catch Fenris as he fell forward. Encircling Fenris tightly with his arms, Zevran once more frowned when the other remained stiff and unresponsive in his arms.

“Just take what you want,” he whispered, barely registering how Zevran tensed up. “That’s how it was before, they always took from me, so just do what you want with me. I won’t stop you or complain, I was taught better, I just…I just don’t want to be alone anymore,” Fenris finished, his head buried in the assassin’s shoulder, missing the furious look that crossed Zevran’s face before it was covered up with a smirk.

“You are very drunk, my dear Fenris. How much have you had to drink tonight?” Zevran asked, his hand coming up to run through the other’s hair.

“Rounds at the Hangman, I didn’t keep count, and…and three bottles of wine here. What does it matter? Just…just get it over with,” Fenris said resigned, trying not to enjoy having the assassin play with his hair.

“So I can do anything I want, mi dulce?” Zevran asked, one of his hands coming to rest on the small of Fenris’ back, the other dropping to cup the back of his neck. “Anything at all and you won’t fight me?”

Fenris nodded, and felt him reach up to remove his shoulder guards and chest armor. Once they were place on the floor, he expected to feel lips on his skin and roaming hands, only to be surprised when Zevran made him sit on the bench in front of the fire. He tried to turn when the blond elf circle behind him, but stopped and groaned when Zevran’s fingers began to knead into the knots and sore muscles along his neck and shoulders.

“What…what are…” Fenris cut himself off, moaning while Zevran worked out knot after knot of tension.

“Anything I want, that is what you said, mi dulce. I want you, my dear Fenris, to relax and tell me what troubles you this night.”

“My troubles?” Fenris murmured, leaning back against the other elf, his eyes half closed and fighting to stay open as the massage and drink slowly allowed his exhaustion to catch up with him. “My troubles…aren’t worth anyone’s time. Shouldn’t care about my problems. I am not worth the trouble. Should know that I am worth nothing, just a tool. A tool is used, a tool doesn’t have problems, doesn’t have feelings. You should just…just…” Fenris finally passed out, never seeing the way that Zevran’s face had darkened the more Fenris had spoken.

*********************************************************

Fenris groaned as the pain in his head intensified the more awake he became. What had happened last night? He could remember drinking at the Hangman with his friends, then returning home and drinking some more, then a very strong feeling of loneliness and looking at the dagger on his mantle, than...Zevran!

The warrior's eyes shot open and then snapped closed, when the bright sunlight from his window caused the pain in his head to increase. Cursing, Fenris quickly buried his head under his pillow, wondering if he had dreamed last night up. Well, he wondered until a familiar chuckle reached his ears with the sounds of his curtains being drawn.

"Come, mi dulce, it is safe to bring your head out. I have banished the cruel sun from your room," an overly cheerful Zevran called. Fenris brought his head out, if to do nothing more than to glare him into silence.

When the blond rogue only smiled wider and completely ignored his glare, Fenris turned away from him and slowly began to look himself over. He was surprised to see that his clothes were still on, that he didn't feel any soreness, and that there were no marks on his skin. He couldn't remember the last time he had allowed someone to touch him and they didn't leave marks or bruises.

"Did you not..." Fenris started, his eyes holding a great amount of confusion when he looked back at the other elf.

"I did not," Zevran said, the smile gone from his face.

Fenris felt anger, frustration, and humiliation fill him. Combined with the hangover he had pounding away at his head, he found that he could not stop himself from speaking.

"What is the matter? You've said enough times that you'd love to see my bare skin. Is a broken, used tool not to your liking? Or did you want me to beg? Maybe on my knees? Others have never had any trouble taking what they want! So why didn't you?! Am I suddenly not good enough..." Fenris’ angry rant was cut off by Zevran's hand covering his mouth. He looked into Zevran’s eyes and was surprised to see sadness and understanding in them. Zevran sat on the edge of the bed, and Fenris found himself shocked into silence as he moved his hand to cup the warrior's cheek.

"I am many things, my dear Fenris; a murderer, a thief, a lover, but I am no rapist. I will never ask for more than you are willing to give, and contrary to what you might say, you were not willing last night," Zevran said, his thumb gently caressing Fenris' cheek. Seeing the confusion that filled those bright green eyes, Zevran gave him a small smile before leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his forehead.

"I shall prove to you that you are not broken, nor just a tool. I will show you that someone does care, that you are worth far more than you give yourself credit. I have returned the dagger to your mantle, so you may call for me again, though I promise you will be seeing more of me regardless. Until then, mi dulce." Zevran removed his hand and picking up a glass off the warrior's nightstand, pressed it into Fenris' hand. "An old Antivan hangover cure. It tastes as bad as it smells, but does wonders for the head."

Fenris watched him rise, give a small bow, and walk out of the room. He continued to stare even after he heard the front door open and close. Looking down at the glass in his hands, Fenris found that he truly did not understand the rogue.

**************************************

Fenris didn't actually think anything of the Antivan's vow; pretty words meant little to him - actions meant more. The warrior though he had seen the last of the annoying elf, but soon found that he was wrong.

It started off small, bowls of his favorite fruits began to show up on his table, each one accompanied by a short note that always ended with 'Z' at the end. Then there was the time he came back from helping on one of Hawke's missions, to find a pot of delicious smelling stew sitting in the fireplace of his room. Just above it was a note, pinned with Zevran's dagger, saying that he didn't think Fenris ate well enough, and that he planned to change that from now on. From then on, there always seemed to be some new or favorite food waiting for him when he came home in the evening. There was also the time he came back from the Wounded Coast to find a new bed with warm, soft sheets, and the holes in the roof fixed. Fenris often thought that he should feel annoyed that the rogue invaded his home so often, but the warm feeling slowly building in his chest didn't allow those thoughts to stay for very long.

Not long after that, Zevran began to join Hawke's group on the many errands they ran around Kirkwall and the Wounded Coast. As they fought together, Fenris quickly realized how well they worked as a team; they covered each other’s weak points, and even the rest of the gang couldn't keep from commenting on how well the rogue and warrior seemed to fit. Fenris refused to say anything on the matter, though he often caught himself staring at Zevran as he glided around the battlefield. Each time that he realized what he was doing, he would jerk his head away and try to convince himself that it meant nothing, that the rogue meant nothing. But as he locked eyes with the blond, Fenris found it harder and harder to believe.

All thoughts of Zevran were driven from Fenris' mind the minute he received word that his sister had arrived in Kirkwall and was waiting to meet him at the Hanged Man in Low Town. He felt some of his nerves disappear when Hawke agreed to come with him to see his sister, and even Anders’ presence was a reassurance he was not expecting. Entering the building, Fenris' eyes quickly found the places that Varric and Isabela had staked out, before his full attention was drawn to the red-haired elf sitting in the middle of the bar. His joy and excitement at the return of some of his memories and the possibility of more is quickly ended with the appearance of his Master.

Fenris could feel his old training trying to kick in, could feel the urge to fall at his Master feet and beg for forgiveness climbing it way though his body. It is only the solid presences and voices of Hawke and Anders that quailed this urge and helped remind him that he no longer had to obey Danarius, that he was a free elf.

The ensuing battle was one of the toughest that Fenris could remember having to fight in a long time, even with the added help of Varric and Isabela, Danarius’ forces were too strong. The soldiers and summoned demons would soon overcome them, and Fenris felt hopelessness filling him, until a dagger seemed to appear out of nowhere and bury itself into the magister's shoulder. With the appearance of the dagger, Danarius’ magic weakened and the fight turned in their favor.

The satisfaction the warrior felt as the magister died at his hands was tempered by the fact that he recognized the dagger sticking out of Danarius’ shoulder. Its mate rested on his mantle. His eyes scanned the room and a warm feeling filled his chest, before he turned to deal with his sister.

*********************************

Hours later, Zevran slowly approached Fenris' home, a bottle of the warrior's favorite wine held in his hand. He had meant to leave it on the other elf's table, a way for the white-haired elf to celebrate his true freedom, but he was surprised to see his dagger sticking out of the window. Climbing up, he entered the room and quickly found arms around his waist and his back hitting the wall.

Locking gazes with the blazing green eyes in front of him, Zevran felt breathless at the amount of want and desire in them. He might even have leaned forward to take those lips in a kiss, had he not peered closer and saw the uncertainty, confusion, and fear lurking behind the desire. Reminding himself that he had made the silent vow to go at Fenris’ pace, the rogue relaxed into him and brought his unoccupied hand up to rest on other’s shoulder.

“Not that I am one to complain about such a position, but what has brought this on, mi dulce?” Zevran gently asked, his thumb rubbing circles into the other’s collarbone. In answer, one of Fenris’ arms left his waist and pulled a dagger from the back of his belt. Recognizing the blade, the assassin gave a small smile.

“I had wondered where I had left it,” Zevran joked, trying to give him an out if he wanted one. He jerked in surprise when the blade was driven deep into the frame of the window, Fenris’ other arm tightening around his waist, fingers digging into his side.

“I was ready to throw down my sword,” Fenris said as his head came to rest on Zevran’s shoulder. “Danarius’ forces were so strong, I could not stand to see another group, perish because of his desire for me.  I was prepared to drop to my knees at his feet, beg for their lives, take whatever punishment he deemed fit, allow him to _take_ me once more, just so…” The warrior took a shuddering breath, remembering the fear and hopelessness that had begun to fill him.

“I would never have allowed him to touch you!” Zevran exclaimed, his hand moving to cup Fenris’ chin and raising his head so that their eyes could meet. “I will never allow anyone to use you that way ever again, mi Amada.”

“You… truly care for me. I thought it was all just a show, that you would grow tired and leave, but then I saw your dagger, realizing that you had made it possible for us to win. For me to truly be free. Why?” Fenris asked, seeing the true depth of the other’s emotions in his eyes.

“Ah, that is quite the question, mi dulce,” Zevran chuckled, his face softening. “I will admit at first it was your looks and marking that drew me to you. Then I began to see your true strength, your loyalty, your kindness, and I realized I wanted to see more. Then to hear those doubts and fears that you keep hidden inside, I decided I would show you that they were untrue and help banish them from your mind.”

“You are telling the truth! Here I thought you would flirt and go after anything on two legs,” Fenris joked, and liked the laugh he got in return.

“You wound me, mi dulce. You must have noticed that I have not seriously flirted with anyone since I began to pursue you.” Zevran watched Fenris concede the point with a small nod. “Come, I came to help you celebrate your freedom. Shall we have a toast?” Zevran asked, holding up the bottle for Fenris to see. The rogue was surprised when he shook his head and took the bottle from his hand to set it down.

“I want a clear head, tonight. I want…” Fenris trailed off, and Zevran found himself under an intense stare before the other elf leaned forward and pressed their lips together. Zevran pulled him closer, but kept the kiss to a gentle brushing until he pulled away looking conflicted.

“I have never…not with someone I actually care for, I…all I know is force, taking, and pain. I am not sure if…” Fenris stopped talking, Zevran’s lips covering his once more, the kiss soft and calming. He didn’t try to stop Zevran as he switched their positions, and for once, being held like this didn’t make him feel trapped and afraid. When the assassin tried to pull away, Fenris tightened his hold, dragging a chuckle from the blond.

“Remember what I told you, mi dulce? Never more than you are willing to give. We will take this at your pace. What do you wish tonight, mi Amada?” Zevran asked, pulling away and running his hand through the other elf’s hair.

“I…I…Can we just talk for now? I really do not know that much about you, and everything I learned from Isabella, I can never be sure is true,” Fenris asked, uncertainty in his voice, a part of him expecting Zevran to leave.

“I am not sure you will like what you hear, but I would like to learn more about you as well, mi dulce.”

The two shared a smile filled with understanding and kissed once more before moving to sit in front of the fire, talking long into the night.


End file.
